The Innocent Victim
by azureea
Summary: Rorschach's Journal Entries from April 14th, 1982-July 8th, 1985. Meets an intriguing girl. Not necessarily romance, not necessarily not romance. Ambiguous to interpretation. Mostly Graphic Novel/Some Movie Universe. Will Add Entries at least once a week.
1. Chapter 1

RORSCHACH'S JOURNAL- April 14th, 1982

This city had a choice. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men, like my father or President Truman. Decent men, who believed in a day's work for a day's pay. Instead, they followed the droppings of lechers and communists and didn't realize that the trail led over a precipice until it was too late. Don't tell me they didn't have a choice. Now the whole world stands on the brink, staring down into bloody hell, all those liberals and intellectuals and smooth talkers... and all of a sudden nobody can think of anything to say.

Passed couple fornicating in alley tonight. Felt sick to my stomach. Something was wrong though, more so than should be. Against better judgment, I turned and took another glance. Girl was struggling, trying to scream. Boy held her down, covered her mouth. Are people so immoral and desensitized that no one else had stopped and taken that second glance? And even if they had, would anyone else have done anything to stop what was happening to that girl?

Soon as I pulled his disgusting carcass off her, she disappeared. The man is dead now, bleeding all over the alley floor. I turn to leave, she is still there. Huddled between alley wall and dumpster. Crying. Anyone else would have run. She is sitting there, numb, possibly in shock. I step toward her and she flinches out of her trance, staring up at me with fear. "I'm not going to hurt you," I say "Are you alright?" She looks down, toward the scum on the floor. Looks blank, like she is unsure. "Are you hurt?" I ask again. Her eyes snap back to my face. She says nothing, but the collar of blouse is pulled aside, just enough to expose a long fresh wound extending from bottom of throat to shoulder end of collarbone. Registers now that bastard had a knife.

"C'mon. Hospital," I say. She shakes her head. I don't argue. Needs medical treatment though. Joey nearby and Dreiberg can help. I take her by the elbow to help her up, but when I let go, her legs collapse under her. I catch her. Now that she is standing, leaning on me for support, I notice she is small. Very small, fragile. I carry her to Joey's cab and he drives. She sits there, still crying silently. I say nothing. Get to Daniel's house, Joey opens door. Daniel is sitting on couch, stands up, looks surprised. Why? Why does he always look surprised? Hasn't he learned to expect this by now?

"Raped," I say in response to the question forming on Daniel's face. Girl lets out noise halfway between a sob and a hiccup. Daniel nods, leads me to couch. I set the girl down. She clings to my sleeve for about a second before I straighten and move out of the way for Daniel. This intrigues me. Why is she not afraid of me? Must investigate further.

"Miss, my name is Daniel," he says kindly "Can you tell me who you are?"

"M-Molly," she stammers. Her voice is clear but shaky "Molly Reagan,"

"Molly, what happened?"

Molly takes deep breath, shudders. "I was walking home," she begins "From the school,"

"Are you in High School?" She shakes her head again.

"I'm- I'm a teacher. Literature,"

Daniel looks surprised, but only for a moment. I'm surprised too. She looks too young.

"How old are you, Molly?"

"Twenty four,"

"Do you know who it was who did this to you?"

"Doesn't matter," I say "He's dead,"

"Oh Jesus, Rorschach, why do-"

"He was a student," Molly interrupts Dreiberg, fresh tears forming. Daniel looks back at her, clear shock on his face. "A student? One of your students?" She nods.

"He came to me, after school. He was upset about a grade, on his midterm. H-He needed the class to graduate. When I told him there was nothing I could do, he started... He started shouting. I had security escort him out. Then when I was walking home, he... he cornered me in the alley, and... he h-had a knife. He said he w-was going to change my m-mind for me,"

She chokes out the last sentence like it hurts. Daniel looks sick.

"A high school student?" I ask. Rapist wasn't built like high school student.

"He was held back twice," Molly whispers "He was twenty,"

"Molly, I'm going to need to ask you some questions, and I know they're hard to answer, but they'll tell us whether you should go to a hospital or not. Okay?" Molly nods "Did he... penetrate you with anything other than himself?"

Molly shakes her head.

"Do you have any other injuries besides the cut?"

She pauses, then pulls aside her blouse again, this time a bit lower, just under the collarbone, exposing a few fresh bruises and one bite mark. This adds to the bruise forming around her left eye. I am sickened.

"Are you in serious pain anywhere else?"

"My... my legs. Down there," her cheeks flush and she avoids Daniel's gaze.

"Molly, have you... ever slept with a man before?"

Don't know why he asks this. Girl is good looking, am positive the answer is yes. Molly surprises me again and shakes her head. Maybe a lesbian. Would assume, but Dreiberg is more skeptical.

"Any other sexual encounters?"

She shakes her head again. I have never come across an innocent victim before, someone who has done absolutely nothing to deserve the treatment they receive. Anyone else has had some sort of sickening vice: Whores, Liars, Adulterers. Can usually tell by their reaction to me. They fear me. Molly is not afraid of me. She is the innocent victim. This intrigues me.

"Alright... Listen, Molly, I'd recommend going to a hospital, at the very least a private doctor. I can fix up your injuries, but there's no way of telling if anything else is wrong,"

Molly nods and runs a few fingers under her eye to wipe away the tears, forgetting that it's blackened, and winces slightly. Dreiberg stands and leaves the room. Molly glances up at me, then moves her gaze back down to the floor. Why will she look me in the eye and not Dreiberg?

"Thank you," she nearly whispers. This is another rare occurrence. I have never been thanked before. Molly looks more distressed now.

"Something you're not telling us?" I ask. She looks me in the face again, this time holds my gaze.

"I just realized... They're going to find the body. And my fingerprints and-"

"I left my signature," I tell her "And if you're questioned, just tell the truth,"

"I-I can't blame a murder on you,"

"Why? I did it," I say simply. Molly simply looks down. Have not yet figured out the way this girl thinks. Dreiberg comes back, tends to injuries. I watch. When finished, Joey is still outside. I get in the cab with Molly and she mumbles an address to Joey. He takes us to a small apartment, we both get out.

"Thank you. Again," she says, looking me in the eye again. She has blue eyes.

All I can do is nod. She walks inside, but gives me one last glance before entering. I walk home.

Molly has given me a lot to think about. The first and only innocent victim I've ever come across. She thanked me. She looked me directly in the eye. She is not afraid of me. What is different about Molly? What makes her this way? She has given me something else too. Some strange feeling, deep in my chest. Is this hope? Maybe. Must Investigate Further.

-RORSCHACH-


	2. Chapter 2

WRITER'S JOURNAL- April 28th, 2010  
Writing for Rorschach difficult. Talk like him when don't need to now. XD  
No seriously. After I write these I talk in incomplete sentences for like an hour (Method Writer).  
Anyway, this chapter turned out to be a little fluffier than I intended. Didn't mean for it to be. I saw it more as another observation of her character. Molly intrigues Rorschach because she shows some sort of genuine care for him (doesn't necessarily mean romantic care), and he is not used to that. So to all the Rorschach loyalists out there who are aiming their bricks at me, PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! D:  
Seriously, I'm trying to tailor this to the loyalists and fangirls alike, so know that I am ambiguous and don't intend either. Let the reader do the thinking.  
Also, on a side note, I may change the rating to "M" for violence and swearing. I'm definitely not too liberal with my swearing, but ocassionally I'll throw a word in for effect. Be comforted that I have more taste than to throw in a large chorus of "Man Words" as my father calls them.

And now without further psychotic ramblings from the poor starving writer, I give you Chapter Two:

* * *

RORSCHACH'S JOURNAL- June 4th, 1982

No Justice... No Reason. Why do bad things happen to good people? Is it because probability is not a discriminating force? Is it because the simple process of cause and effect doesn't work on the basis of morality? Is it because the world we live in is unforgiving and highly competitive? Or is it because there are no good people?

Saw Molly Reagan for the first time since April tonight. On hospital stretcher. Found in classroom during High School Graduation Ceremony, shot point blank in the chest. Bullet missed heart by inches. Shooter left no traces, left in a hurry. Molly made it to phone, dialed 9-1-1, lost consciousness. Police arrive, turn Molly over to paramedics. She will recover. Another teacher tells police that Molly left after Valedictorian Speech to use restroom, didn't come back. Police search building as ambulance takes Molly to hospital. I watch this from corner across High School, no one recognizes me without my face. Police turn up empty, no clues, no leads, decide to wait until Molly regains consciousness so she can describe the shooter. I have my suspicions, and there is not time to wait.

Ten minutes later, I am standing in front of a small shabby shack of a house. The door comes down with one kick and I move inside. House reeks of alcohol, crumpled newspapers litter floor. Find a gun in kitchen drawer, not enough evidence. Most people keep a gun these days. Occurs to me now that last time I investigated murder was before Keene Act. Better this way. No cops or politicians or detectives in my way now. Still, makes me wonder. Why does Molly's attempted murder spur me into action when any other murder committed in this godforsaken city gets left to the police? I do not trust them, but I especially do not trust them with Molly. Why is this? Still don't understand.

Nothing useful in living room or kitchen. Move on to first bedroom. Empty. Two boxes in corner, faded spaces on walls where pictures once hung, unoccupied. Second bedroom just across hall. It is small, unkempt, reeks more strongly of alcohol here. Mattress on floor with blanket thrown over it passes as bed, small TV in corner. Open closet, find what I need.

Two newspaper articles pinned to wall. One about Molly's rape, the other a year or so older, winning some award. Around these two articles are pictures of her. Can tell by the quality and the way she never looks near the camera they were taken from far off, without Molly's knowledge. Scrawled across the mural is red writing: LYING WHORE, and in smaller letters over each picture: BITCH. Writing is fresh, still dripping scarlet drops onto the dirty floor. Run fingers over it, no mistaking it is blood. I have seen enough.

Another Ten Minutes. I am in Molly's hospital room, hidden in corner. Guard outside asleep, no other police close by. Useless, pointless, worthless...

Molly is still unconscious. Does not look like she has just been shot. Peaceful almost. Like she is only sleeping. Breathing slow and even, calm. I watch her sleep and it relaxes me. Notice more about Molly now. Dark hair, curls at ends lightly. Rests just at shoulders, which look even more thin than usual in hospital gown. Skin is pale, especially next to hair. Long eyelashes. Looks small, breakable, like a porcelain doll. Why does simply watching her sleep calm me?

Thoughts interrupted, door opens behind me. Press myself into corner. Can't see yet, but judging by the way he locks door behind him and quiet halting footsteps, killer has come back for seconds. Man walks past, does not see me. Man approaches Molly's bedside, gun in hand, I shadow him silently. Man presses gun under her jaw line. She stirs.

I grip him by the hair, slam head into wall. Man falls to ground, surprised and dazed, drops gun. Wonder vaguely if guard outside woke up, do not care. Calm felt before is gone, replaced with fury.

This man tried to kill My Molly. (Shouldn't have said that. Don't know why I did. Not my Molly, just Molly. WHAT is wrong with me?)

"John Bedford," I say. I know this man, did my research. Father of Jay Bedford, student who attacked Molly. I stand over him, an expression of mixed fear and anger on his face. He points to Molly, still unconscious.

"That... That BITCH killed my son. My son! She's a whore! She fucked my son for a grade and when he threatened to tell the police she killed him! SHE KILLED MY SON!"

I take Bedford by the collar roughly and pull his face close to mine.

"I KILLED YOUR SON," I say slowly and clearly. Bedford shakes head.

"No. No!"

"You're delusional," I say, disgusted.

"NO! She's a lying whore!"

Fist connects, hard, with Bedford's jaw. I feel it break.

"You. Tried. To. KILL her," voice shakes with anger. Bedford looks purely afraid now. With reason, he is about to die. Fear motivates him though. Scrambles for gun, fights back, makes me angrier. Slam him, hard, against wall. His head droops slightly but he is still alive. Shove head into corner of filing cabinet, paid attention to where his head lands. He will not get up.

Gasping breath comes from behind me and beeping of the heart monitor attached to Molly speeds up. Molly is awake. She stares at the now dead body at my feet and begins hyperventilating. This worries me. I move to her bedside.

"Molly, calm down. Calm down. You're safe, no one's going to hurt you," I say.

She must be delirious. She tears her eyes from the body and looks up at me, confused.

"What happened?" she asks, her voice feeble.

"You were shot," I tell her.

"By Mr. Bedford..." she finishes, realization clouding her eyes. She looks past me, past the trash on the floor, thinking. Any color she had in her face has been drained. I am worried. She coughs. There is a can of soda by her bed, on an untouched food tray. I push it into her hand.

"Drink this," I say "Carbonation will help with shock,"

She takes a sip, then sets can on table. She takes my hand. Not sure what to do. I do not enjoy most contact like this. Molly has soft skin. I let her hold it because she demands my attention with the look in her eye. Concern.

"You're bleeding," she tells me. I look down. Did not notice, wrist on right hand is cut. Missed anything vital, but still substantial cut.

"Nothing serious," I say. She continues to stare at me. She looks at me with an expression I am not used to. Worry. Slight exasperation. Pleading. Care. Something like adoration. I would not know, but this is a look a real mother would give her child. Because of the look she gives me, I actually close my fingers briefly around hers. Her skin is not only soft, it is warm.

Door rattles and nervous cop yells from outside "Open this door!" Molly jumps, looks at door, back at me.

"Have to go now. You'll be safe. I'll stay close," I tell her. She grips my hand firmly, continues staring into my face.

"Thank You," she says. She lets her fingers slip out of mine as I back away from her and leave out the window.

Molly has an effect on me. Not sure if I like it. Know for sure I don't hate it. Went back after Molly told what happened and police cleared. Watched her sleep.

She must have been dreaming. I saw her smile for the first time.

-RORSCHACH-


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Readers-  
Sorry for the ridiculously long wait, but as I was just today was released from the hospital, I hope you'll find it in your hearts to forgive me. Yeah, spine surgery and rehab kinda takes the writing bug outta you for a while. They basically cut me open, ripped my spine out piece by piece, then put me back together again. But since no one attempted to murder me and therefore I was not rescued by a masked vigilante, it was not remotely exciting.

So yeah. Also, sorry about this chapter. I dunno, I just find it boring. And short. Probably because no one's trying to kill/rape/both Molly and there is only minimal Rorschach-Crime-Fighting-Bad-Assery. I think it has to do with the fact that I am on so many different painkillers I can barely type my own name... I r teh gud spellr!

And thanks to everyone who reads and reviews! I'm way flattered that people are reading this and, for the most part, actually like it! Now that I'm out of the hospital and can actually move again, I will continue updating weekly. Thanks Kiddos!

* * *

RORSCHACH'S JOURNAL- September 23rd, 1982

I am not good with women. I know this. Why should I be? They are all in league with each other, a secret conspiracy of unstable emotions and hormones.

Try to think of women I know or knew.

My Mother, Sylvia Kovacs, an abusive whore. Glad when she was killed.

Landlady, Mrs. Shairp. Reminds me of my mother.

Laurie Juspeczyk, second Silk Spectre. Tolerable but loud and outspoken. We share a mutual dislike.

Molly Reagan. Different.

Taken to watching Molly's apartment in spare time. Not sure why. Maybe because she has proven to be danger prone, maybe because I am curious. Besides, gives me place to think away from Mrs. Shairp and constant complaints about rent.

Sat out on bus stop bench this morning, watching apartment. Didn't expect anything to happen. Some days would get glimpse of her, moving in her kitchen, but for most part, nothing. I knew she was not home this morning. Opens windows when home. Windows were closed.

"Good morning,"

Occasionally get people who try to strike up conversation with me. Out of some half-hearted attempt at decency. Don't care for these people, usually ignore them. Recognized voice though.

Molly sat down on the bench next to me.

Shocked and surprised at first, unsure what to do. Acknowledged with nod, saying anything back out of the question. But Molly is not looking for conversation so she can look like a saint who talks to homeless men. Simply smiles, says "Good Morning,", sits on bench, waits for bus.

I watch her discreetly. This is the first time I have seen her up-close when she is not either unconscious, distressed, terrified, or hurt. Looks happy. Easy smile, like nothing bad ever happens to her. I know otherwise and do not understand. Catches me staring once, glances in my direction, then back toward street. Blushes though, like she is embarrassed. Bus comes, Molly gives me another smile, then leaves. I watch the bus until it disappears.

Night is routine. Two shoplifters, a drug dealer. All three dead. I think of Daniel as I kill these men, and one of his worn out pieces of advice. Tells me I shouldn't kill. Daniel is too soft on criminals. Doesn't understand that if you just put cockroaches outside, they keep coming back until you exterminate every last one. Ran patrol, decided to check Molly's apartment one more time. She is safe.

What is happening to me? Initially curiosity. Now fascination. Not sure what fascination becomes, but worried it may be obsession. Cannot attach myself so firmly to something as inconsistent and unreliable as the life of a human being. Something keeps telling me Molly is different. Not sure how she can be.

Begin to tell myself she isn't. There must be something.

And whatever it takes, I will find out.

-RORSCHACH-


End file.
